While resting in comfort in the warm white-walled bedroom I share with my siblings one hot summer night, my mom came into the room and gently asked me, "Joy, can you help me clean up the shop? Slightly annoyed, I put on my flip flops and headed to the shop. Mixing the hot water with cleaning detergents, I was ready to clean up the shop floor. Usually the process was painstakingly slow: I had to first empty a bucket full of dirty water, only to fill it up again with boiling water. But that night, I made quick work and finished in five minutes! My mom, dissatisfied, seized the mop from me and began to show the "proper way" to clean the floor. She ordered a redo. I obeyed, but she showed no signs of approval. As much as I wanted to vent that night, I had genuine reasons to remain calm. Growing up in the rural part of Nigeria, my mom got worried on how she could provide for her family and not what she would wear to the office every day. While many of her friends immediately joined college and then the work force upon completing high school, my mom could not attend high school due to the financial constraints her family had. She had always wanted to become a nurse, but when she couldn't attend high school due to lack of funds, my mother, despite being one of the strongest individuals I know, told me she broke down. Today, more than nineteen years have passed, yet the walls of my parents' bedroom still do not bear a framed college degree with the name "Onda Elizabeth"on it. In contrast, when I visit my friends, I see the names of elite institutions beautifying the living room walls. I am aware that these framed diplomas are attestations to the hard work and accomplishments of my friends' parents and siblings. In spite of that, the sight of them was an irritating reminder of the great difference between our households. In place of diplomas and accolades, my parents' room effuses a smell from the shop uniform my mother puts on seven days a week, all year round. I never see my mom in makeup, expensive jeans or lavish dresses that I often see other moms put on. My mother, despite never attending high school, still managed to make a difference in my life. She had always wanted to become a nurse. I decided to become a nurse to keep my mother’s dream alive. In future, I would like to pursue a career as a critical care nurse. I made this decision when I vowed to contribute immensely to the health sector of the universe. My goal is to improve the care of critically ill patients by acquiring, discussing, and promoting evidence-based information relevant to the critical care physician. I intend to work as a nurse in areas where nurses are short staffed in order to help patients. In hindsight, I'm confused at the ease with which I can compose all my views of this amazing woman on a piece of paper, but lack the nerve to express my gratitude in conversations. Perhaps, actions will indeed speak louder than words. When I graduate hopefully by 2026, I know she will buy a dress to honor the special occasion. When I toil through my college thesis, I know she will still be mopping the shop floor at 11:00 PM. When I finally hang up my diploma in my bedroom, I know she will be smiling.

While resting in comfort in the warm white-walled bedroom I share with my siblings one hot summer night, my mom came into the room and gently asked me, "Joy, can you help me clean up the shop? Slightly annoyed, I put on my flip flops and headed to the shop. Mixing the hot water with cleaning detergents, I was ready to clean up the shop floor. Usually the process was painstakingly slow: I had to first empty a bucket full of dirty water, only to fill it up again with boiling water. But that night, I made quick work and finished in five minutes! My mom, dissatisfied, seized the mop from me and began to show the "proper way" to clean the floor. She ordered a redo. I obeyed, but she showed no signs of approval. As much as I wanted to vent that night, I had genuine reasons to remain calm. Growing up in the rural part of Nigeria, my mom got worried on how she could provide for her family and not what she would wear to the office every day. While many of her friends immediately joined college and then the work force upon completing high school, my mom could not attend high school due to the financial constraints her family had. She had always wanted to become a nurse, but when she couldn't attend high school due to lack of funds, my mother, despite being one of the strongest individuals I know, told me she broke down. Today, more than nineteen years have passed, yet the walls of my parents' bedroom still do not bear a framed college degree with the name "Onda Elizabeth"on it. In contrast, when I visit my friends, I see the names of elite institutions beautifying the living room walls. I am aware that these framed diplomas are attestations to the hard work and accomplishments of my friends' parents and siblings. In spite of that, the sight of them was an irritating reminder of the great difference between our households. In place of diplomas and accolades, my parents' room effuses a smell from the shop uniform my mother puts on seven days a week, all year round. I never see my mom in makeup, expensive jeans or lavish dresses that I often see other moms put on. My mother, despite never attending high school, still managed to make a difference in my life. She had always wanted to become a nurse. Tomorrow, she will wear her uniform with just as much dignity as a businesswoman would wear her power suit. In future, I would like to pursue a career as a critical care nurse. I made this decision when I vowed to contribute immensely to the health sector of the universe. My goal is to improve the care of critically ill patients by acquiring, discussing, and promoting evidence-based information relevant to the critical care physician. In hindsight, I'm confused at the ease with which I can compose all my views of this amazing woman on a piece of paper, but lack the nerve to express my gratitude in conversations. Perhaps, actions will indeed speak louder than words. When I graduate hopefully by 2026, I know she will buy a dress to honor the special occasion. When I toil through my college thesis, I know she will still be mopping the shop floor at 11:00 PM. When I finally hang up my diploma in my bedroom, I know she will be smiling.

While resting in comfort in the warm white-walled bedroom I share with my siblings one hot summer night, my mom came into the room and gently asked me, "Joy, can you help me clean up the shop? Slightly annoyed, I put on my flip flops and headed to the shop. Mixing the hot water with cleaning detergents, I was ready to clean up the shop floor. Usually the process was painstakingly slow: I had to first empty a bucket full of dirty water, only to fill it up again with boiling water. But that night, I made quick work and finished in five minutes! My mom, dissatisfied, seized the mop from me and began to show the "proper way" to clean the floor. She ordered a redo. I obeyed, but she showed no signs of approval. As much as I wanted to vent that night, I had genuine reasons to remain calm. Growing up in the rural part of Nigeria, my mom got worried on how she could provide for her family and not what she would wear to the office every day. While many of her friends immediately joined college and then the work force upon completing high school, my mom could not attend high school due to the financial constraints her family had. She had always wanted to become a nurse, but when she couldn't attend high school due to lack of funds, my mother, despite being one of the strongest individuals I know, told me she broke down. Today, more than nineteen years have passed, yet the walls of my parents' bedroom still do not bear a framed college degree with the name "Onda Elizabeth"on it. In contrast, when I visit my friends, I see the names of elite institutions beautifying the living room walls. I am aware that these framed diplomas are attestations to the hard work and accomplishments of my friends' parents and siblings. In spite of that, the sight of them was an irritating reminder of the great difference between our households. In place of diplomas and accolades, my parents' room effuses a smell from the shop uniform my mother puts on seven days a week, all year round. I never see my mom in makeup, expensive jeans or lavish dresses that I often see other moms put on. My mother, despite never attending high school, still managed to make a difference in my life. She had always wanted to become a nurse. Tomorrow, she will wear her uniform with just as much dignity as a businesswoman would wear her power suit. In future, I would like to pursue a career as a critical care nurse. I made this decision when I vowed to contribute immensely to the health sector of the universe. My goal is to improve the care of critically ill patients by acquiring, discussing, and promoting evidence-based information relevant to the critical care physician. In hindsight, I'm confused at the ease with which I can compose all my views of this amazing woman on a piece of paper, but lack the nerve to express my gratitude in conversations. Perhaps, actions will indeed speak louder than words. When I graduate hopefully by 2026, I know she will buy a dress to honor the special occasion. When I toil through my college thesis, I know she will still be mopping the shop floor at 11:00 PM. When I finally hang up my diploma in my bedroom, I know she will be smiling.

While resting in comfort in the warm white-walled bedroom I share with my siblings one hot summer night, my mom came into the room and gently asked me, "Joy, can you help me clean up the shop? Slightly annoyed, I put on my flip flops and headed to the shop. Mixing the hot water with cleaning detergents, I was ready to clean up the shop floor. Usually the process was painstakingly slow: I had to first empty a bucket full of dirty water, only to fill it up again with boiling water. But that night, I made quick work and finished in five minutes! My mom, dissatisfied, seized the mop from me and began to show the "proper way" to clean the floor. She ordered a redo. I obeyed, but she showed no signs of approval. As much as I wanted to vent that night, I had genuine reasons to remain calm. Growing up in the rural part of Nigeria, my mom got worried on how she could provide for her family and not what she would wear to the office every day. While many of her friends immediately joined college and then the work force upon completing high school, my mom could not attend high school due to the financial constraints her family had. She had always wanted to become a nurse, but when she couldn't attend high school due to lack of funds, my mother, despite being one of the strongest individuals I know, told me she broke down. Today, more than nineteen years have passed, yet the walls of my parents' bedroom still do not bear a framed college degree with the name "Onda Elizabeth"on it. In contrast, when I visit my friends, I see the names of elite institutions beautifying the living room walls. I am aware that these framed diplomas are attestations to the hard work and accomplishments of my friends' parents and siblings. In spite of that, the sight of them was an irritating reminder of the great difference between our households. In place of diplomas and accolades, my parents' room effuses a smell from the shop uniform my mother puts on seven days a week, all year round. I never see my mom in makeup, expensive jeans or lavish dresses that I often see other moms put on. My mother, despite never attending high school, still managed to make a difference in my life. She had always wanted to become a nurse. In future, I intend to pursue a career as a critical care nurse. I made this decision when I vowed to contribute immensely to the health sector of the universe. My goal is to improve the care of critically ill patients by acquiring, discussing, and promoting evidence-based information relevant to the critical care physician. Also, I felt I could do this for my mom - To become the nurse that she had always wanted to become. In hindsight, I'm confused at the ease with which I can compose all my views of this amazing woman on a piece of paper, but lack the nerve to express my gratitude in conversations. Perhaps, actions will indeed speak louder than words. When I graduate hopefully by 2026, I know she will buy a dress to honor the special occasion. When I toil through my college thesis, I know she will still be mopping the shop floor at 11:00 PM. When I finally hang up my diploma in my bedroom, I know she will be smiling.

While resting in comfort in the warm white-walled bedroom I share with my siblings one hot summer night, my mom came into the room and gently asked me, "Joy, can you help me clean up the shop? Slightly annoyed, I put on my flip flops and headed to the shop. Mixing the hot water with cleaning detergents, I was ready to clean up the shop floor. Usually the process was painstakingly slow: I had to first empty a bucket full of dirty water, only to fill it up again with boiling water. But that night, I made quick work and finished in five minutes! My mom, dissatisfied, seized the mop from me and began to show the "proper way" to clean the floor. She ordered a redo. I obeyed, but she showed no signs of approval. As much as I wanted to vent that night, I had genuine reasons to remain calm. Growing up in the rural part of Nigeria, my mom got worried on how she could provide for her family and not what she would wear to the office every day. While many of her friends immediately joined college and then the work force upon completing high school, my mom could not attend high school due to the financial constraints her family had. She had always wanted to become a nurse, but when she couldn't attend high school due to lack of funds, my mother, despite being one of the strongest individuals I know, told me she broke down. Today, more than nineteen years have passed, yet the walls of my parents' bedroom still do not bear a framed college degree with the name "Onda Elizabeth"on it. In contrast, when I visit my friends, I see the names of elite institutions beautifying the living room walls. I am aware that these framed diplomas are attestations to the hard work and accomplishments of my friends' parents and siblings. In spite of that, the sight of them was an irritating reminder of the great difference between our households. In place of diplomas and accolades, my parents' room effuses a smell from the shop uniform my mother puts on seven days a week, all year round. I never see my mom in makeup, expensive jeans or lavish dresses that I often see other moms put on. My mother, despite never attending high school, still managed to make a difference in my life. Tomorrow, she will wear her uniform with just as much dignity as a businesswoman would wear her power suit. In future, I would like to pursue a career as a critical care nurse. I made this decision when I vowed to contribute immensely to the health sector of the universe. My goal is to improve the care of critically ill patients by acquiring, discussing, and promoting evidence-based information relevant to the critical care physician. In hindsight, I'm confused at the ease with which I can compose all my views of this amazing woman on a piece of paper, but lack the nerve to express my gratitude in conversations. Perhaps, actions will indeed speak louder than words. When I graduate hopefully by 2026, I know she will buy a dress to honor the special occasion. When I toil through my college thesis, I know she will still be mopping the shop floor at 11:00 PM. When I finally hang up my diploma in my bedroom, I know she will be smiling.

While resting in comfort in the warm white-walled bedroom I share with my siblings one hot summer night, my mom came into the room and gently asked me, "Joy, can you help me clean up the shop? Slightly annoyed, I put on my flip flops and headed to the shop. Mixing the hot water with cleaning detergents, I was ready to clean up the shop floor. Usually the process was painstakingly slow: I had to first empty a bucket full of dirty water, only to fill it up again with boiling water. But that night, I made quick work and finished in five minutes! My mom, dissatisfied, seized the mop from me and began to show the "proper way" to clean the floor. She ordered a redo. I obeyed, but she showed no signs of approval. As much as I wanted to vent that night, I had genuine reasons to remain calm. Growing up in the rural part of Nigeria, my mom got worried on how she could provide for her family and not what she would wear to the office every day. While many of her friends immediately joined college and then the work force upon completing high school, my mom could not attend high school due to the financial constraints her family had. She had always wanted to become a nurse, but when she couldn't attend high school due to lack of funds, my mother, despite being one of the strongest individuals I know, told me she broke down. Today, more than nineteen years have passed, yet the walls of my parents' bedroom still do not bear a framed college degree with the name "Onda Elizabeth"on it. In contrast, when I visit my friends, I see the names of elite institutions beautifying the living room walls. I am aware that these framed diplomas are attestations to the hard work and accomplishments of my friends' parents and siblings. In spite of that, the sight of them was an irritating reminder of the great difference between our households. In place of diplomas and accolades, my parents' room effuses a smell from the shop uniform my mother puts on seven days a week, all year round. I never see my mom in makeup, expensive jeans or lavish dresses that I often see other moms put on. My mother, despite never attending high school, still managed to make a difference in my life. She had always wanted to become a nurse. Tomorrow, she will wear her uniform with just as much dignity as a businesswoman would wear her power suit. In future, I would like to pursue a career as a critical care nurse. I made this decision when I vowed to contribute immensely to the health sector of the universe. My goal is to improve the care of critically ill patients by acquiring, discussing, and promoting evidence-based information relevant to the critical care physician. In hindsight, I'm confused at the ease with which I can compose all my views of this amazing woman on a piece of paper, but lack the nerve to express my gratitude in conversations. Perhaps, actions will indeed speak louder than words. When I graduate hopefully by 2026, I know she will buy a dress to honor the special occasion. When I toil through my college thesis, I know she will still be mopping the shop floor at 11:00 PM. When I finally hang up my diploma in my bedroom, I know she will be smiling.

While resting in comfort in the warm white-walled bedroom I share with my siblings one hot summer night, my mom came into the room and gently asked me, "Joy, can you help me clean up the shop? Slightly annoyed, I put on my flip flops and headed to the shop. Mixing the hot water with cleaning detergents, I was ready to clean up the shop floor. Usually the process was painstakingly slow: I had to first empty a bucket full of dirty water, only to fill it up again with boiling water. But that night, I made quick work and finished in five minutes! My mom, dissatisfied, seized the mop from me and began to show the "proper way" to clean the floor. She ordered a redo. I obeyed, but she showed no signs of approval. As much as I wanted to vent that night, I had genuine reasons to remain calm. Growing up in the rural part of Nigeria, my mom got worried on how she could provide for her family and not what she would wear to the office every day. While many of her friends immediately joined college and then the work force upon completing high school, my mom could not attend high school due to the financial constraints her family had. She had always wanted to become a nurse, but when she couldn't attend high school due to lack of funds, my mother, despite being one of the strongest individuals I know, told me she broke down. Today, more than nineteen years have passed, yet the walls of my parents' bedroom still do not bear a framed college degree with the name "Onda Elizabeth"on it. In contrast, when I visit my friends, I see the names of elite institutions beautifying the living room walls. I am aware that these framed diplomas are attestations to the hard work and accomplishments of my friends' parents and siblings. In spite of that, the sight of them was an irritating reminder of the great difference between our households. In place of diplomas and accolades, my parents' room effuses a smell from the shop uniform my mother puts on seven days a week, all year round. I never see my mom in makeup, expensive jeans or lavish dresses that I often see other moms put on. My mother, despite never attending high school, still managed to make a difference in my life. Tomorrow, she will wear her uniform with just as much dignity as a businesswoman would wear her power suit. In future, I would like to pursue a career as a critical care nurse. I made this decision when I vowed to contribute immensely to the health sector of the universe. My goal is to improve the care of critically ill patients by acquiring, discussing, and promoting evidence-based information relevant to the critical care physician. In hindsight, I'm confused at the ease with which I can compose all my views of this amazing woman on a piece of paper, but lack the nerve to express my gratitude in conversations. Perhaps, actions will indeed speak louder than words. When I graduate hopefully by 2026, I know she will buy a dress to honor the special occasion. When I toil through my college thesis, I know she will still be mopping the shop floor at 11:00 PM. When I finally hang up my diploma in my bedroom, I know she will be smiling.

While resting in comfort in the warm white-walled bedroom I share with my siblings one hot summer night, my mom came into the room and gently asked me, "Joy, can you help me clean up the shop? Slightly annoyed, I put on my flip flops and headed to the shop. Mixing the hot water with cleaning detergents, I was ready to clean up the shop floor. Usually the process was painstakingly slow: I had to first empty a bucket full of dirty water, only to fill it up again with boiling water. But that night, I made quick work and finished in five minutes! My mom, dissatisfied, seized the mop from me and began to show the "proper way" to clean the floor. She ordered a redo. I obeyed, but she showed no signs of approval. As much as I wanted to vent that night, I had genuine reasons to remain calm. Growing up in the rural part of Nigeria, my mom got worried on how she could provide for her family and not what she would wear to the office every day. While many of her friends immediately joined college and then the work force upon completing high school, my mom could not attend high school due to the financial constraints her family had. She had always wanted to become a nurse, but when she couldn't attend high school due to lack of funds, my mother, despite being one of the strongest individuals I know, told me she broke down. Today, more than nineteen years have passed, yet the walls of my parents' bedroom still do not bear a framed college degree with the name "Onda Elizabeth"on it. In contrast, when I visit my friends, I see the names of elite institutions beautifying the living room walls. I am aware that these framed diplomas are attestations to the hard work and accomplishments of my friends' parents and siblings. In spite of that, the sight of them was an irritating reminder of the great difference between our households. In place of diplomas and accolades, my parents' room effuses a smell from the shop uniform my mother puts on seven days a week, all year round. I never see my mom in makeup, expensive jeans or lavish dresses that I often see other moms put on. My mother, despite never attending high school, still managed to make a difference in my life. Tomorrow, she will wear her uniform with just as much dignity as a businesswoman would wear her power suit. In future, I would like to pursue a career as a critical care nurse. I made this decision when I vowed to contribute immensely to the health sector of the universe. My goal is to improve the care of critically ill patients by acquiring, discussing, and promoting evidence-based information relevant to the critical care physician. In hindsight, I'm confused at the ease with which I can compose all my views of this amazing woman on a piece of paper, but lack the nerve to express my gratitude in conversations. Perhaps, actions will indeed speak louder than words. When I graduate hopefully by 2026, I know she will buy a dress to honor the special occasion. When I toil through my college thesis, I know she will still be mopping the shop floor at 11:00 PM. When I finally hang up my diploma in my bedroom, I know she will be smiling.

I volunteered in the nursing unit of a hospital where I assisted nursing staff in running errands, and also assisted them in their daily activities in order for them to focus more on patients. At the hospital, I learnt how to render cardiopulmonary resuscitation which eventually came in handy on a fateful day while I was walking down the street after I had closed for the day from the hospital. I suddenly heard a loud cry from a woman; “Help my daughter is dying”. Another passerby yelled, “Hurry take her to the hospital”. Engulfed in shock and oblivious to the passage of time, I prepared for the cognitive punch in the face that was cardiopulmonary resuscitation. Spending time at the hospital and also consecrating several hours to the internet in other to learn more about cardiopulmonary resuscitation, I became insistent on improving my knowledge on home-remedy, committed to not just understanding how first aids are applied, but what the best way to apply them was. I had absorbed everything from the internet and from my experience in the dispensary. From asthma attack emergency, to cardiac arrest emergency. Yes! It dawned on me that I had to use my own knowledge from my voluntary service at the nursing unit to revive the child who was suffering from a cardiac arrest. I snapped out of my thoughts and hurriedly ran to the woman who was holding her child and panicking. I immediately took the child from her and laid her on the floor. I began a chest compression on the child. I angrily yelled to people around who were staring and taking videos with their mobile phones, to call the ambulance. I began losing hope as the child wasn’t responding but I carried on with the chest compression and began breathing for the child by covering her mouth and nose with my mouth. After several puffs of breath and chest compression, a loud cry from the girl gave me the kind of joy I never experienced before. I proceeded to check the baby’s pulse and breathing. I did it! About 15 minutes later, an ambulance had still not arrived, but a Good Samaritan offered his car and took the mother and child to the hospital. Overtime,I felt really glad at the ability to revive the child. I adopted possibility on a path where, before I felt too foolish even to join. My anxiety and doubt no longer held me back. It was really a moment of self fulfillment for me.

While resting in comfort in the warm white-walled bedroom I share with my siblings one hot summer night, my mom came into the room and gently asked me, "Joy, can you help me clean up the shop? Slightly annoyed, I put on my flip flops and headed to the shop. Mixing the hot water with cleaning detergents, I was ready to clean up the shop floor. Usually the process was painstakingly slow: I had to first empty a bucket full of dirty water, only to fill it up again with boiling water. But that night, I made quick work and finished in five minutes! My mom, dissatisfied, seized the mop from me and began to show the "proper way" to clean the floor. She ordered a redo. I obeyed, but she showed no signs of approval. As much as I wanted to vent that night, I had genuine reasons to remain calm. Growing up in the rural part of Nigeria, my mom got worried on how she could provide for her family and not what she would wear to the office every day. While many of her friends immediately joined college and then the work force upon completing high school, my mom could not attend high school due to the financial constraints her family had. She had always wanted to become a nurse, but when she couldn't attend high school due to lack of funds, my mother, despite being one of the strongest individuals I know, told me she broke down. Today, more than nineteen years have passed, yet the walls of my parents' bedroom still do not bear a framed college degree with the name "Onda Elizabeth"on it. In contrast, when I visit my friends, I see the names of elite institutions beautifying the living room walls. I am aware that these framed diplomas are attestations to the hard work and accomplishments of my friends' parents and siblings. In spite of that, the sight of them was an irritating reminder of the great difference between our households. In place of diplomas and accolades, my parents' room effuses a smell from the shop uniform my mother puts on seven days a week, all year round. I never see my mom in makeup, expensive jeans or lavish dresses that I often see other moms put on. Yet, one must have something exceptional to stand in front of a cash register for 19 years and do so with pride and determination. On certain days, I would come home sweaty, dressed in nice blouse and colored trousers, clear evidence of socializing. Whereas, my mom appears physically and emotionally worn-out from work, but she still asks me about my day. Overwhelmed with guilt, I find it difficult to respond. Moments such as those challenge my criteria of what makes up true success. My mother, despite never attending high school, still managed to make a difference in my life. Tomorrow, she will wear her uniform with just as much dignity as a businesswoman would wear her power suit. In hindsight, I'm confused at the ease with which I can compose all my views of this amazing woman on a piece of paper, but lack the nerve to express my gratitude in conversations. Perhaps, actions will indeed speak louder than words. When I graduate by 2026, I know she will buy a dress to honor the special occasion. When I toil through my college thesis, I know she will still be mopping the shop floor at 11:00 PM. When I finally hang up my diploma in my bedroom, I know she will be smiling.

While resting in comfort in the warm white-walled bedroom I share with my siblings one hot summer night, my mom came into the room and gently asked me, "Joy, can you help me clean up the shop? Slightly annoyed, I put on my flip flops and headed to the shop. Mixing the hot water with cleaning detergents, I was ready to clean up the shop floor. Usually the process was painstakingly slow: I had to first empty a bucket full of dirty water, only to fill it up again with boiling water. But that night, I made quick work and finished in five minutes! My mom, dissatisfied, seized the mop from me and began to show the "proper way" to clean the floor. She ordered a redo. I obeyed, but she showed no signs of approval. As much as I wanted to vent that night, I had genuine reasons to remain calm. Growing up in the rural part of Nigeria, my mom got worried on how she could provide for her family and not what she would wear to the office every day. While many of her friends immediately joined college and then the work force upon completing high school, my mom could not attend high school due to the financial constraints her family had. She had always wanted to become a nurse, but when she couldn't attend high school due to lack of funds, my mother, despite being one of the strongest individuals I know, told me she broke down. Today, more than nineteen years have passed, yet the walls of my parents' bedroom still do not bear a framed college degree with the name "Onda Elizabeth"on it. In contrast, when I visit my friends, I see the names of elite institutions beautifying the living room walls. I am aware that these framed diplomas are attestations to the hard work and accomplishments of my friends' parents and siblings. In spite of that, the sight of them was an irritating reminder of the great difference between our households. In place of diplomas and accolades, my parents' room effuses a smell from the shop uniform my mother puts on seven days a week, all year round. I never see my mom in makeup, expensive jeans or lavish dresses that I often see other moms put on. My mother, despite never attending high school, still managed to make a difference in my life. Tomorrow, she will wear her uniform with just as much dignity as a businesswoman would wear her power suit. In future, I would like to pursue a career as a critical care nurse. I made this decision when I vowed to contribute immensely to the health sector of the universe. My goal is to improve the care of critically ill patients by acquiring, discussing, and promoting evidence-based information relevant to the critical care physician. In hindsight, I'm confused at the ease with which I can compose all my views of this amazing woman on a piece of paper, but lack the nerve to express my gratitude in conversations. Perhaps, actions will indeed speak louder than words. When I graduate hopefully by 2026, I know she will buy a dress to honor the special occasion. When I toil through my college thesis, I know she will still be mopping the shop floor at 11:00 PM. When I finally hang up my diploma in my bedroom, I know she will be smiling.